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At Thy almighty and omnific word
This vast stupendous universe arose;
Thy power sustains it, and Thou canst dispose Of all at will, amenable to none.
Thy dread omnipotence what can oppose ? As dust all nations by Thy breath are blown:
Ten thousand ministers of vengeance stand,
Obsequious waiting thy supreme command. Thou bidd'st the thunders roll, the lightnings gleam,
Commission'd whom to smite, and whom to save;
While storms and tempests desolate and rave, Or sink in slumbers at Thy awful nod;
Earth trembling yawns, an all-engulphing grave, And melt the mountains at Thy touch, O God:
Thou King of kings, dread Potentate Divine,
Unnumbered orbs, belched from Thy puissant hand,
Their mystic flights in harmony pursue,
In beaming lustre through the trackless blue, Obeying gloriously Thy high behest;
Ethereal shrines, which ne'er pollution knew,
Where all acknowledge, homage, and adore,
Life of all life, quintessence underived,
Whose vital energy in all we trace,
The earth, the ocean, and the depths of space Thy presence mirror bright to every eye:
No thought, volition, action, state, or place,
All eye, all ear, all intellect, sublime,
Alone in holiness, in justice, truth,
Above conception, and beyond all praise,
Yet nature's tacit eloquence betrays Thy love and mercy, vigilance and care;
Embracing all, in endless forms and ways,
Seen in the mite, as man and angel clear,
But what am I, to merit thy regard ?
A worm, an insect, into being brought
But yesterday; to-morrow gone; forgot Quite by the world, as if I ne'er had been;
Guilty, polluted, vile in deed and thought,
A sullied miniature of pristine worth:
Still I am something, which Thy notice claims,
And shares Thy sympathy, divine and pure:
From day to day Thy mercies still endure, For oh ! Thy name and nature, God, are love !
In me Thy spirit breathes an earnest sure, Of joys immortal in the realms above; Hence, guide me by Thy truth where'er I stray, Till freed my soul shall thither wing her way!
ADDRESS TO A THRUSH WHILE
SING on, sweet minstrel of the wood and grove! a Enshrined, as wonted, in thy towering plain;
With ravished ear I hail thy artless strain
Sing on, thou lovely Thrush! thy heart is light;
No dark forebodings nor regret are there:
Wrapt in the present, while no rankling care
Sing on, my favourite of the powers of song,
Thrice dear remembrancer of other days,
Of other joys and feelings, which thy lays In fond imagination yet prolong! Ah, then, sweet Thrush, like thine, my heart was
young, Bounding and free, with love and gladness strung.
Sing on, my loved one! how the bosom sighs;
What chords are there still tangible by thee,
Those slumbering memories endeared to me, Death-blasted hopes, and friendship’s broken ties; Thy powers awake, renew, and knit once more, And scenes recall I fondly trod of yore,
Sing on, thou soft magician of the heart !
Who points the tube at thee with evil eye,
May vengeance seize him, pity spurn his cry; The callous miscreant, cursed be his art. Humanity responds her sad Amen: And now adieu !-perchance we meet again,
TO THE MEMORY OF M. S., MY WIFE.
KOWL, ye bleak winds of hoary dark November,
Faint type of that dark winter of my soul;
Vainly, alas! in prattling fascination,
Of the sad blighting, withering dispensation,
Hushed now the groan, long patent to the pillow,
Now the frail bark hath weather'd the rough ocean,
Thrice hallowed shade, imperishable spirit !